Read English version by clicking the flag…

united-kingdom-flag-pole-animated

Jul je bio užasan. Što zbog vremena koje je bilo nepodnošljivo toplo sa tu i tamo, nekim udarom kiše, ali omorina koja je udarila tog četvrtka je bila nepodnošljiva. Omamljujuće jutro i suludo prepodne sa pritiskom koji je išao gore dole poput loptice u fliperu. Mislio sam da je taj dan jedan od onih koje je bilo bolje da sam prespavao. Međutim nije bilo previše posla, a opet na takvu promenu klime u jednom danu – sasvim dovoljno. Na teren sam izašao relativno brzo. Već oko 9 sam počeo svoju svakodnevnu rutu uz susrete sa ljudima koji su, svaki ponaosob, za sebe imali po neki nadimak za mene. Neki natmureni i smušeni, drugi bezrezervno rasterećeni i kao pod dejstvom alkohola. I sam sam bio takav. Dok mi se u glavi svo vreme vrtela mantra da moram da se fokusiram na posao kako bih ga što pre završio i vratio se kući, misli su mi ipak vrludale kojekuda i niko mi nije bio „težak“ i svako mi je delovao u najblažem smislu reči – smešno.

citac_misli

Negde na prvoj trećini terena sam, iz ulaza, u momentu pregledanja po beskonačno išaranim sandučićima, začuo sirene. Prvo mi se učinilo da su policijske, a onda sam na tren okrenuo glavu i stajući na dva stepenika bacio pogled kroz debela stakla na vratima kroz koja se mogla videti polovina puta na bulevaru. U momentu kada se vozilo čulo najjače, ispred mog pogleda je prošao donji deo policijskog Pežoa, a odmah za njim i veliki točkovi vatrogasnog kamiona, sa nekom čudnom prikolicom kockastog oblika. „ Negde je zagoreo doručak “ – pomislih u sebi, i vratih se traženju sandučeta koje nosi prezime „Medić“. Izašao sam iz zgrade poput pijanca koji otvara celim telom vrata kafane, ispao pred sredovečnu ženu koja me pogledala prekorno i okrenuvši glavu nastavila dalje odlučnim korakom. Pomislio sam „ E stvarno bi mogao danas da počneš da se ponašaš kao poštar – kad to već jesi!“ i nastavio da radim na toj misli prolazeći pored starog katoličko – pravoslavnog groblja zarobljenog između zgrada koje je svojom starošću davalo sebi dovoljno zaštite da ga ne izmeste. Umesto toga posadili su divne vrbe i hrastove, koje je taj kompleks činilo daleko „normalnijim“ u stambenom naselju. Preko puta njega je umesto dve stare „ švapske nabijače “ već nicalo bar, tri zgrade! Tih šezdesetak metara praznog hoda mi je davalo dovoljno vremena da “ošacujem” naredni bunt pošte i zapaljenu cigaretu popušim do pola, dok ne stignem do prve u nizu od tri „budice“ koja je bila cvećara „Vesna – K“.

vatrogasci-pozar-vatrogasni-kamion-foto-dado-dilas-1388735649-421439

Međutim, već na pola puta sam ispred cvećare ugledao gazdaricu sa još nekoliko lokalaca i par stranaca kako stoje i zure ka drugoj strani ulice. Bacio sam pogled i tek tada ugledao prizor ispred zgrada koje je veliko preduzeće „ Neimar “ gradilo u nekom komunističko – futurističkom stilu, osamdesetih godina prošlog veka.  Veliki vatrogasni kamion je stajao na zelenoj površini ispred zgrade. Nabijen između dve omanje lipe i automobila, policijski Pežo, koji je sa upaljenom rotacijom i svetlima, stajao parkiran na bankini uz put i ogromni crveni kockasti naduvan balon. Nekoliko policajaca je stajalo kao živi zid sa obe strane tog dela ulice i preusmeravalo bicikliste i pešake na drugu stranu. Vatrogasci su bili u ful opremi pored kamiona i ljubopitljivo gledali ka vrhu zgrade. Nekoliko sivih odela sa jednim policajcem visokog čina se vrzmalo u ulazu i ispred njega. Stigavši do cvećare, ni ne pozdravivši posmatrače, a tad sam shvatio da sa te strane bulevara niz njegovu ivicu je stajalo još bar pedesetak ljudi i posmatralo sledeći prizor: Čovek na poslednjem spratu četvorospratnice, u svojim ranim tridesetim godinama, hodao je napred-nazad po stanu rukama podignutim u visini glave, udarajući se, čupajući sopstvenu kosu, kriveći i gnječeći sopstveno lice. Veliki dupli prozor je bio razbijen, a nekoliko stvari je ležalo ispred zgarde po putu i na travnjaku. Mikrotalasna, pegla, neki deo nameštaja koji se u padu rasturio u komadiće iverice, jedna stolica, i nekoliko delova odeće od kojih su se nekakve crne pantalone zlokobno vijorile sa grane na koju su pale. Čuo se glasan plač deteta.

 

Šta se događa? „ – Pitao sam pogledavši prisutni deo skupa. „ Pa hoće da se ubije! Ludak! „ – progovorila je radnica iz sledeće budice koja je bila diskont pića. Imala je majicu sa logoom piva koje nisu imali u svojoj radnji. „ I šta sad? „ – Pitao sam ponovo ali sad već pažljivo gledajući policajce čija je pažnja bila usmerena ka ulici. „ Ma otišla je gore cela ekipa specijalaca. Prava policija. A ne ovi… Sa sve šlemom bato! „ Kao da želi da da još ozbiljniji ton celoj situaciji, reče matori Mijolković, koji je voleo da popije par „unučića“ vinjaka za pre podne, pa smo se na ovom mestu često sretali. „ Mislite, policajci pregovarači sa timom? Hoće da ga nagovore da odustane? “ – nastavio sam „ Pa što mu ne upadnu preko krova i razvale vrata, koliko je slupan neće shvatiti šta ga je snašlo u par sekundi.“ – rekoh. „ Jesi ti normalan ?! Majke ti ?! „ Skoro povika na mene vlasnica cvećare Vesna. „ Jel treba da uzme i baci onu svoju devojčicu kroz prozor kad ih vidi? Ili da je izbode nožem ? Ti bi da neko baš pogine ? Je li?!!! „ – ispalila je rafal u mene. „Ma ne…“ – setio sam se koliko je par sličnih situacija snimljeno i puštano u etar,  u kojima su  policajci pokazivali svoju spremnost. Ali odustadoh od objašnjenja. „ Ne bih ja niko da pogine, samo jasno je da gosn’ Dabiću nije dobro, sigurno je pod nekim lekovima. A i da je hteo već bi naudio devojčici. „.  Zaključih na brzinu. „ Ma pojma ti nemaš! To je bre psihopata jedan… Zombi! Znaš ti kako on ide ujutro da kao „kupi mleko“ ?! Eeej… ma taj je narkomančina, bre sigurno!“„ Jeste ,jeste. Sigurno! „ Samouvereno se nadovezala radnica iz diskonta na Mijolkovićeve reči. Pri tom, svako od njih je samo na sekund skinuo pogled sa tužnog prizora, kako bi videli šta sam im stavio u ruku. Tih dana su stigli računi, a ja sam posle prve rečenice sklonio pogled i nastavio sa poslom počevši od njih. Zakoračivši uz opasku – „ Uživajte u predstavi! „ čuo sam iza leđa gazdaricu Vesnu kako mi dobacuje- „ E nisam znala da si tako bezosećajan, stvarno! “ , pri tom sam imao osećaj kao da su mi oči na leđima i bio sam skoro 100% siguran da nije skinula pogled sa nesrećnog Dabića dok mi je to govorila.

254637505475f8f9c2f44574301218_v4 big

Dok sam nastavljao dalje niz bulevar prelazeći iz jednog ulaza u drugi i probijajući se između okupljenih komšija i njihovih dosetki, neslanih šala i iskrene zabrinutosti, setio sam se prošle zime. Bio je hladan kraj novembra. Dan je bio suv, ali je minus bio toliki da sam prizivao sneg. Jedan dan, ne sećam se koji, u tom istom ulazu u kom su sad bili policajci i „ zabrinute komšije“, sam se uspentrao na četvri sprat do stana broj 16 – „Dabić“, noseći omanji paket od sestre pokojne supruge gos’n Dabića koja je njegovoj devojčici, a svojoj sestričini, Teodori povremeno slala nekakve stvari i novac iz Austrije. Setio sam se kako sam penjući se niz zadnji niz stepenika do stana na poslednjem spratu video kako stoji mala Teodora u pidžami. U par koraka sam preskočio nekoliko stepenika i onako zadihan pokušao da se nasmešim pitajući je „ …otkud ti tu?“  Dete od neke tri i po godine mi je pokazalo da ćutim stavljajući kažiprst na svoja mala usta i pokazivala rukicama ka otvorenim vratima stana. Pod je bio mokar i leden. Podigao sam je onako bosonogu i poneo tih tri koraka do stana. Spustivši je na tepih hodnika pokucao sam o dovratak i glasno izgovorio „ Dabić! Poooooštaaa ! „ – ništa. Ponovio sam opet isti ritual ali sam opet umesto odgovora dobio samo tišinu. Nešto me uplašilo. Koraknuo sam u stan i ulazeći u dnevnu sobu mogao sam da namirišem skuvanu kafu. Mala Toda, kako je zovem iz milošte, je crtala nešto hemijskom olovkom po novinama ležeći na podu, potpuno mirna i bezbrižna. Za stolom je sedo gosn’ Dabić. To je bila naša interna šala da se oslovljavamo sa „ gos’n“. Bio je naslonjen na ruku sklopljenih očiju. Čarape su mu na petama i prstima još bile mokre, kao i krajevi nogavica na kombinezonu neke firme za obezbeđenje za koju je radio. Ispred njega pepeljara sa dogorelom cigaretom, paklica sarajevske „Drine“, mekog pakovanja, polu-prazan bokal i čaša vode. Bilo je tu i nekih besplatnih novina starih par dana i tabla nekih tableta za bolove. Prišao sam mu polako a srce mi je počelo udarati sve jače. Čim sam spustio ruku na njegovo rame, prenuo se i i spravio u onoj stolici koja sad leži ispred zgrade. Zbunjen, pogledom je preleteo preko sobe i posle par zadržanih momenata na Teodori okrenuo se meni. „ E , gosn’ poštar..? Uf, samo sam za trenutak sklopi oči.. Treća smena, već drugi mesec , jebi ga… Moja Keva je čuva uveče, pa pali da radi na pijaci čim ja stignem. „ – Pokušavao je bespotrebno da mi se izvini, jer je nešto video u mojim očima dok sam mu vadio i stavljao paket na sto pred njega. „ Ma u redu je, nego, zaključaj kad izađem. Zbog male.. „ Pogledao sam ga upitno pokazujući mu prstima na otvorena vrata. „ Da, da… Svakako! Hvala ti! Oćeš da sedneš.. ?“  – „ Ma ne, palim. Samo ti odmori. Al prvo zaključaj.“ Namignuo sam mu i šmugnuo niz stepenište dok su mi kroz glavu proletali najgori scenariji za slučajnu nesreću trogodišnjeg deteta, jer je otac, premoren radom iz treće smene zaspao došavši sa posla u vreme kada za sve ostale počinje novi dan.  Setivši se ovoga poslednjeg, okrenuo sam se  i shvatio da sam već daleko od tog istog ulaza, ali isto tako i da mu je masa koja je prethodno sve posmatrala prekoputa ulice sada mnogo bliža. Okrenuo sam glavu i produžio. Miris nesreće. Postoji li opojniji miris za ljudsko biće bez obzira što ne može ni da shvati zašto se bilo šta tako događa?  „ …sigurno da nisam normalan…“ – pomislih u sebi. „ Bilo je samo pitanje vremena. Kad će da „pukne“. A onda su počeli da mi dolaze nova i nova lica za koja sam se zapitao istu stvar. I opet sam bio uplašen. Bilo ih je tako mnogo…

ostrvo-lutaka-meksiko-profimedia-1438887974-715267

 


 

 

The smell of calamity

July was horrible. Somewhat because of the weather which was intolerably hot with now and then some impact of rain, but humidity which hit on that Thursday was unbearable. Intoxicating morning and crazy afore noon with preassure that was going up and down like a ball in a pinball. I thought that was one of those days I better have slept through. However there was not to much of a work but with such climate change in one day – fairly enough. I went out to my district relatively quick. Around 9 I have already started my everyday route with encounters with people who, every and each one of them, had nicknames for me. Some of them grumpy and scatter-brained, others unreservedly relieved, like under the influence of alcohol. I was like that myself. While I was turning mantra in my head all the time that I have to focus on a job in order to finish it as soon as possible and go back home, my thoughts roamed everywhere and nobody was difficult to me and everyone seemed in mildest sense of words – ridiculous.

citac_misli

Somewhere in the first third of my tarain, from the entrance to the building, in a moment of overlooking scribbled mailboxes, I heard the sirens. First I thought they are police sirens and then I turned my head for a moment and stepping onto two stairs looked through the thick glass on the entrance door, I could see half of the boulevard. In a moment when the sound of the vehicles was the loudest, in my view came bottom part of a police Peugeot and right after that, big wheels of the fire truck, with some odd looking cube trailer. „Somebodies breakfast burnt“ – I thought to myself and went back to searching for a mailbox with the name „Medić“ on it. I went out of the building like a drunk who opens a door with his full body, stumbled in front of the middle aged lady who looked at me reproachfully and turning her head continued marching away. I thought: “You should really start behaving like a postman today – when you already are one“ and continued working on that thought passing by catholic – orthodox cemetary trapped between buildings, which being old as it is, gave itself enough protection not to be moved elsewhere. Instead of that they have planted willows and oaks, which made that complex look far more normal in a housing development. Across from it instead of two old „Swabian compact houses“ already sprouted at least three buildings! Those sixty meters of empty walk was enough time to look through mail I was about to deliver and smoke a cigarette half way, until I approached first of three small shops, which was a flower shop „Vesna-K“.

vatrogasci-pozar-vatrogasni-kamion-foto-dado-dilas-1388735649-421439

However, half way there I noticed an owner of the flower shop with a few of the local folks and a couple of strangers standing and staring at the other side of the street. I looked and only then have I seen a scene in front of the buildings which huge company „Neimar“ have built in some communist – futurist style in the eighties of last century. Big fire truck was standing in the green area in front of the building. Stuck between two small linden trees and cars, police Peugeot with the rotation turned on, stood parked on the shoulder by the road and a huge, red, cube bloated baloon.

A couple of police officers stood as a live wall on each side of that street and diverted cyclists and pedestrians to the other side. Firemen were in a full gear next to the truck and inquisitively looked at the top of the building. A few grey suits with one police officer of high rank spun in the entrance and in front of it.

When I finally came to the flower shop, I didn’t even say hello and then I’ve noticed at least 50 other people standing on that side of the boulevard watching following scene: A man at the last floor of the four storey building, in his early thirties, was walking back and forth in his apartment with his hands raised up, hitting himself, tearing his own hair, bending and squeezing his own face. Big, double glass window smashed and few things lay in front of the building on the road and on the grass. Microwave, iron, some piece of the furniture which crushed falling down into crumbs of plywood, one chair and few items of clothes of which some black trousers sinisterly waivered from the branch they fell on. You could hear a loud cry of the child.

“What’s going on?” – I asked looking at the present part of the crowd. “Well, he wants to kill himself Lunatic!” – said the worker from the next shop which was a liquor store. She had a Tshirt with a logo of the beer they didn’t sell. “And now what?” – I asked again but now closely watching the police whose attention was directed to the street. “The entire team of special force went up there. Real police. And not these… With helmets brother!” -like he wants to give even more serious tone to the whole situation, old Mijolković said. He liked to drink couple of tiny bottles of cognac in the morning, so we often met here.

“You mean police negotiators with a team? They want to persuade him to give up?” – I continued –“So why don’t they come over the roof and break the door, how crushed he is, he won’t even grasp what is happening to him”. “Are you insane?! Really?!” The owner of the shop, Vesna almost shouted at me. “Should he take that girl of his and throw her out the window when he sees them?! Or to stab her with the knife? You really want somebody to get killed? Right?” she burst at me. “Oh, no…” – I remembered few similar situations filmed and aired, in which police showed us how well prepared they are. But I gave up on explaining.

“I don’t want anybody to get killed, it’s just, it’s clear that Mr. Dabić isn’t well, he must be on some medication. And if he wanted, he would have already harmed the girl.” I concluded fast. “You have no idea what you are talking about! He is a psychopath! Zombi! Do you know how he goes to “buy milk” in the morning?! Heeey… he is a junk ass, for sure!” – “He is, he is. For sure!” – Confidently followed up the girl from the liquor store to what Mijolković had to say. At the same time, all of them glanced only for a moment to what I am putting in their hands, not being able to look away from the sad scene.

The bills started in those days, and I have looked away after the first sentence continuing with my work, starting with them. Walking away I said: ”Enjoy the show!” I heard Vesna, the owner, throwing it at me: ”I really didn’t know you are so insensitive!”, feeling she didn’t move her stare away from poor Dabić while she was telling me that.

254637505475f8f9c2f44574301218_v4 big

While I continued further down the boulevard, crossing from one entrance to another, pushing through between gathered neighbours and their witty talk, practical jokes and honest worry, I remembered last winter. It was the end of November. The day was dry but the minus was so low that I was wanting snow. One day, I don’t remeber which, in that same entrance which was now full of police and „worried neighbours“, I climbed to the fourth floor to the apartment No. 16- „Dabić“, carrying a small package from his late wife’s sister, who from time to time, sent money and some things from Austria, to his little girl and her niece Teodora.

I remebered how climbing the last flight of stairs up to the apartment on the last floor, I saw little Teodora standing in her pyjamas. In few steps I jumped over couple of stairs and breathing heavy tried to smile asking „..how come you are here?“ A child around three and a half years old showed me to be silent putting her little index finger to her little mouth and showing with her little hands towards the opened doors of the apartment. The floor was wet and freezing cold. I lift her up bare footed and carried her those three steps to the apartment. Putting her down on the carpet of the hallway I knocked at the doorpost and said loud „Dabić! Maaail!“ – nothing, I repeated the same ritual but again I got only silence for the answer. Something scared me. I stepped into the apartment and entering the living room could smell the freshly cooked coffee. Little Toda, how I call her, was drawing something with the pen on the newspapers, lying oon the floor, completely calm and careless. At the table Mr. Dabić was sitting. It was our internal joke to call each other Mister. He was leaning on his hand with his eyes closed. His socks were still wet on his toes and heels, as were the bottoms of the overalls he was wearing of some security firm he was working for. In front of him an ash tray with burnt cigarette, a soft pack of „Drina“ Sarajevo, half empty jug and a glass of water. There were some free newspapers and some painkillers. I approached him slowly and my heart started stomping harder and harder. As soon as I layed my hand on his shoulder, he opened his eyes and straighten himself in that chair which was lying now in front of the building. Confused, he looked over the room and after a few moments looking at Teodora, he turned to me: „Mr. Postman..? I just closed my eyes for a moment. Third shift, second month, fuck it… Mom is babysitting at night, but in the morning she has to go to work at the market, as soon as I arrive“. He tried to excuse himself with no real need, because he saw something in my eyes, while I was taking and puttin a package on the table in front of him. „It’s ok, but please lock the door when I go out. Because of the little one..“ I looked at him with a question on my face pointing to the open door. „Yes, yes, I will, for sure! Thank you! Do you want to sit down..?“ „Oh no, I’m off. You rest. But lock up first“. I winked at him and ran down the stairs while the worst scenarios about the accident with the three year old, because overly tired father fell asleep comming from the third shift, when for all others a new day starts, went through my head. Remebering this, I turned around and realized I am far away from that same entrance, but somehow closer to the crowd on the other side of the street who is watching the entire scene. I turned my head and continued. The smell of calamity. Is there any other more intoxicating smell for a human being, no matter one can’t grasp why is something like that even happening?

„..I must be crazy…“ I thought to myself. „It was only a matter of time. When he’ll snap“. And then other faces came to my mind for which I asked myself the same question. And again I was scared. It was so many of them.

ostrvo-lutaka-meksiko-profimedia-1438887974-715267